


Make a few demands I’m able to fulfil

by CrypticSighs



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:16:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrypticSighs/pseuds/CrypticSighs
Summary: Happy New Year fellow Gerri/Roman shippers.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 18
Kudos: 36





	Make a few demands I’m able to fulfil

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this fic, let’s say they fucked on the yacht and it hasn’t happened again since…

It’s the annual Logan Roy New Year’s party. The apartment is filled with family, friends, employees and a few enemies. Many already circling Logan like vultures around a carcass. Roman is on the balcony when Frank appears beside him.

“Hey, Roman,” Frank says cheerily.  
“What’s up, Frank-N-Furter?” Roman greets.  
“Tabitha not with you tonight?”  
“Nah, she and some friends fuck off on some retreat every New Year’s. Why do you ask, you old pervert?”  
“Just wondering who you’re gonna kiss at midnight.”  
“Listen, Frank, I’m flattered but there’s no way I’m running my tongue along your dentures. Karl had to bring his wife this year though, so why don’t you sniff out the empty headed call girl he’d be harassing otherwise? There’s always a few floating around at these parties.”  
“You’re always a pleasure, Roman,” Franks says soberly, raising his glass to his mouth.  
“Like I said, Frank: it’s not gonna happen.”

Roman winks and pats him on the shoulder before turning to head inside. Marcia and his father are standing at the living room fireplace, drinks in hand. He clocks Gerri hovering in the lobby archway across the room, just as Marcia is hushing the chattering crowd.

“Okay everyone, the countdown is about to start,” she yells, her free arm wrapped around Logan’s back. “Hurry and grab the one you love the most, even if it’s just for tonight.”

There’s a rumble of laughter throughout the apartment before all the movement starts. Despite the endless negative press and attention his father has been receiving since Kendall’s bomb drop, it feels like there are more guests tonight than ever. Roman starts to push his way around the edge of the room, heading for the archway. But as the countdown starts, he looks up to find Gerri has vanished. He stands on his tiptoes, struggling to peer over or around the people who have taken her spot. A panic builds in his stomach as he continues through the throng, finally catches a glimpse of Gerri waiting at the elevator. Exclamations of “Happy New Year” ring out across the room as she steps inside it, disappearing from view. Roman forces aside a kissing couple in his rush to catch the closing elevator doors. By the time he reaches them, it’s too late.

*

Gerri can't wait to roll into bed and enjoy an extremely rare lie-in tomorrow morning. She's in the bathroom, drying her face when there's a knock on her apartment door. She halts in confusion: there can't be anyone at her door. Especially not after 1am on New Year's Day. She strains her ears to catch the remotest sound when the knock happens again. She hurriedly rubs the towel over her face and grabs her glasses before strutting through her apartment. There must be some mistake, perhaps a drunken visitor for her neighbour instead. She's stunned to find Roman standing in her doorway, seemingly sober and wearing a shy smile.

She pulls the door wider, silently allowing him entry. Quickly glances into the hallway to ensure no one else has spied him there. She can't understand how or why he'd be at her home, doesn't recall them ever discussing where she lives. Pausing briefly once the door is closed, she takes a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. The only sensible plan is to quickly find out what he wants then get him to leave. Her face has returned to its usual neutral expression by the time she follows him into the living room, finds him noseying at the bookshelves surrounding her television.

"Do I even want to know how you coerced my doorman into letting you up here?" she asks coolly. Stopping next to the sofa and folding her arms.  
"Don't worry, no bodily fluids were exchanged," he replies lightly. His back to her as he picks up a paperweight from one of the shelves. "I just said you were lonely and depressed and that I was concerned for your safety."  
"How touching," she says sarcastically. "And you're really here because...?"

He turns to face her, still holding the paperweight. He feels like the weight of it balanced in his hands is actually pinning down his nerves to some extent.

"You missed the ball drop," he shrugs.  
"Oh fuck," she replies seriously. "Well let me know in advance when your other ball drops, and I'll try to be there."  
"Ha fucking ha," he declares. He shakes his head and grins, he should have seen that one coming. "Seriously, why'd you leave?"

Gerri tilts her head at him, a small frown forming on her face. This can't really be the reason he's here but she's not sure if it would actually surprise her. After all, Roman is impulsive. It's difficult to tell how much thought he really gives anything.

"It's always best not to linger after midnight," she explains evenly. "People are drunk and feeling sentimental."  
"Scared you'd do something stupid?" he pushes curiously.  
"No because I rarely do," she concludes confidently.

He nods once, lowers his head to the glass orb in his hands. The swirling blues within it are somewhat mesmerising, reminds him of something. He leans down to gently place it on the coffee table next to him. When he straightens, Gerri is watching him carefully, waiting for his next move.

"Aren't you going to offer me a drink?" he asks airily.  
"I'm not exactly dressed for entertaining,” she points out.

She's wearing silk pyjamas again but this time they're copper with zebras patterned about the sleek fabric. They look so soft, Roman imagines she has the same designer PJs in every print and colour. His mouth twitches when his eyes reach her bare feet: he'd bet she has the pant legs tailored to fit her short stature. His gaze snaps back to her face.

"Didn't stop you before," he says, gently reminding her of his unannounced arrival at her bedroom in Tern Haven.

She locks eyes with him, surely he didn’t come for that. He could've just called her from his apartment: he knows she would've answered. A nervousness starts burning in her stomach as she fetches him a whiskey. But she can’t just throw him out, she needs to know exactly why he’s here. With patience, she knows he’ll show his hand soon enough.

Roman quickly downs the drink she gives him, places the empty glass on the coffee table. He notices she never poured herself one, isn’t sure if that’s a good sign. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, gawks at her as she now loiters in front of the large sofa.

“Will you do something for me and not ask any questions?” he requests carefully.  
“You didn’t kill one of the call girls at that party?” she quips, trying to lighten the tension. “I’m not hiding a body for you, Roman. I draw the line at that.”  
“Noted and hell no,” he exclaims. “I’m not Connor, I don’t fuck call girls.”  
“What is it then? I assume I can at least ask that?”  
“Sure. I want you to close your eyes and count backwards from 10.”  
“What?”  
“No matter what happens, keep counting.”

Her hand comes up to rub the bridge of her nose, she suddenly feels exasperated. “Roman, can’t you just go home?” she complains. “What is this?”  
“Roman Roy asking you to count backwards from 10, please,” he repeats. “Eyes closed.”

She fixes him with an arctic stare, she’s too tired for vague games. “If I do it, will you fuck off so I can go to sleep?” she pleads impatiently.  
“Hey, I’m the one making the demands here,” he jokes. “But if that’s what you want then yes, I will.”  
“Fine,” she relents irritatedly, sighing deeply and closing her eyes. “10…9…What happens when I get to zero? Will another unwanted guest show up? Is your other ball going to drop?”  
“You’re doing well with the not asking questions part,” he responds amusedly. “Keep counting.”  
“8…” she huffs in response, arms hanging by her sides.

Roman moves tentatively towards her, stops just in front of her.

“7…”

He reaches up and delicately removes her glasses.

“What the…” she exclaims, jerking her head back slightly. She doesn’t open her eyes but her brow furrows.  
“Count, Gerri,” he demands, resting a hand on her upper arm. Her glasses clutched between his fingers.  
“Roman…” Gerri says warily.  
“Gerri,” he replies determinedly, gently squeezing her arm.

She shouldn’t let this continue. She should open her eyes, take back her glasses and ask him to leave.

“6…” she continues instead.

He reaches behind her head and slowly unclips her hair.

“5…”

He lightly tosses her glasses and hair clip onto the coffee table beside them.

“4…”

He steps closer, one hand resting on her cheek as the other brushes through her soft unravelling hair.

“3…”

He takes her face in both hands, presses his torso into hers.

“2…”

His nose gently bumps against hers as his thumbs caress her cheekbones. His lips graze hers ever so lightly causing her to sharply inhale.

“1…” she finally breathes against his hovering mouth.

There’s a mutual sigh of relief when their lips connect. It’s been months since that day on the yacht, months since he came to her room after that breakfast and they kissed for the first time. This time isn’t tentative like the first time but it’s even more tender, feels precious somehow. Gerri’s hands grab Roman’s waist under his suit jacket, fingers clinging desperately to his shirt. She’s just as soft as he remembers. His hand glides back into her hair as his tongue slides smoothly into her mouth. He doesn’t deepen the kiss any further, just slithers his tongue deftly against hers over and over until he’s utterly breathless.

When he pulls away, he keeps his face as close to hers as possible. He thought his brain had been exaggerating all these months when he’d remembered their first kisses. Maybe it wasn’t as thrilling as he recalls but he’s overwhelmed in this moment by the perfection of it. Of her. It’s never been like this before, at least not for him. When she opens her wide blue eyes to him, he suddenly realises why the swirling blues of that paperweight caught his attention.

“Happy New Year,” he murmurs warmly.  
“Happy New Year,” she sighs. “How long have you known my address?”  
“Since Croatia,” he admits unabashedly. “You know, in case I was drunk and feeling sentimental.”

He’s had her address saved in his phone all these months. Has lost count the times he’s sat staring at it, thinking of coming here, wondering what she’s doing in those moments. He usually ends up calling her to prevent his imagination driving him crazy.

“We can’t, Roman,” she warns gravely. “You coming here was reckless.”  
“I took a cab,” he replies reassuringly. “And the only people who would possibly give a shit are either still drinking at that party or are on their way home drunk.”  
“And my doorman?”  
“Has been well compensated for his discretion. I assume I’m not the only gentleman caller he’s ever had to keep quiet about.”

She rolls her eyes at his attempt at fishing for information. “Aren’t the phone calls enough?” she queries confusedly.  
“But what about you?” he counters.  
“This is about me?” she asks disbelievingly.  
“ _Everything_ is about you, Gerri,” he whispers desperately.

She’s startled by his admission. Regardless of their professional agreement, she believed his personal interest in her was a passing thing, perhaps an infatuation at most, but he lingers more than ever. The idea that his desire could be _her_ terrifies her more than anything. Their arrangement is dangerous enough without real feelings being involved. Feelings create a web that can’t be unspun. It’s partly why, since the yacht, she’s fully restricted to them to phone calls only. However the months of abstinence haven’t been as seamless for her as she expected. She’s found herself thinking about him more than she would ever admit, often replays their day on the yacht together during sleepless nights.

He can’t say exactly what he wanted when he went to her at Tern Haven but ultimately he wanted her and whatever she was willing to give him. She’s the smartest person he knows. She must realise that the phone calls, their partnership, Tern Haven, the yacht: it’s all about her. He can’t enter a room without seeking her out, subconsciously tracks every gesture and movement she makes. He never thought he’d be willing to truly share control of Waystar with anyone yet he offered to relinquish the Chair or CEO position to her in a heartbeat.

He ghosts his lips along her cheekbone, hovers his mouth next to her ear. She closes her eyes at the sensation of his warm breath exhaling against her skin. One of his hands still playing with her hair, the other resting on her neck.

“Let me touch you like I did on the yacht,” he mutters beseechingly.

Her eyes snap open: he’s finally shown his hand. She cannot deny that Roman has been a constant surprise but what’s truly shaken her since all this started are the decisions she’s made. She’s not one for succumbing to reckless desires but she can’t seem to fully stop herself with him. Her few friends often ask why she stays at Waystar, outside of her being a workaholic. It’s the risk taking, the walking of the high wire. Her blood rushes at the idea she could fall at any moment but that she always manages to keep herself balanced. Even if it’s a close call, just catching herself at the very last moment. Roman, in a way, gives her that feeling. It’s even more petrifying that slipping from this wire could snap the other instantaneously.

“Just tonight,” she relents.  
“Okay,” he sighs, hiding his elated expression by burying his face in her hair.  
“And you can’t stay,” she insists severely.  
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he declares playfully, pulling back to smirk at her.  
“Liar,” she laughs.

His hand leaves her hair to rest on her jaw, his thumb brushing across her lips. He knows this will be over faster than he’d like and might not happen again. He wants to savour every part of this, even just looking at her. He stares at her often but never this closely, this intimately, this explicitly. He constantly has to remind himself in meetings to control his gaze so as not to give their game away.

The fear strikes up again in Gerri’s stomach as she studies Roman’s expression. The way he’s looking at her is so affectionate that it jars her. She’s felt his stare numerous times but never with such an unguarded expression. She needs to take control of this situation.

She leans in, pressing her lips against his as her hands come up to push his jacket off his shoulders. She takes advantage of his hands being forced from her face by grabbing his and pushing her tongue into his mouth.

His jacket drops to the floor and he grips her hips for support as she deepens the kiss. He groans at the feeling of her nails running along his scalp, her tongue continuing its harsh invasion.

She nips at his lower lip before pulling back for air. Starts unbuttoning his shirt so she doesn’t have to look at his gawking face again. She doesn’t regret wanting this encounter but she’s struggling to suppress the concern that all this may be more than just a crush for him. Figures avoiding eye contact and expediting things will help keep her worries at bay.

Roman’s taken aback by her forcefulness as she drags the shirt down his arms. A frown forms on his face as she kisses him again, her hands hurriedly reaching for his belt. He can’t understand her sudden intensity, yet she seems distant in some way. It’s like she’s diving for cover by fiercely rushing them forward.

He grabs her hands, stopping their movements and pushes them away from him. Holds her arms at her sides as he tries to catch her eye.

She eventually raises her face to his. He’s smiling at her with a steady and patient gaze. She finds herself returning his smile like it’s some kind of reflex. He doesn’t say anything, just gradually leans closer and kisses her.

He kisses her softly and slowly, takes his time exploring her mouth with his tongue. Just does that over and over until he feels her melting into it. He moves his mouth to her jaw when his lungs start burning, traces its outline and down the column of her neck. He finally releases her arms, lifts his hands to run the collar of her pyjama shirt between his fingers. He’s been fantasising about them for months, all silk and softness.

“You and your silk fucking PJs,” he murmurs. “I almost leapt on you when you opened the door.”  
“Thank God for your restraint because that would have been ill-advised,” she quips throatily.

She can feel her pulse rate increasing with every button he undoes. It seems he really does like her pyjamas because he doesn’t push the shirt off her shoulders as she was expecting. Instead he trails the edges of the open front with his fingers. Her breath shudders when he eventually slips his hand underneath the silk and cups her bare breast.

Her skin. It’s just as he remembered, so warm and soft. He feels unworthy of putting his clammy hands on it, palming her breast as he pushes her shirt aside with his nose to kiss along her collar bone. He closes the distance between their bodies, pressing his thigh between her legs. The groan she makes when he circles her nipple with his thumb sends a shiver down his spine.

“Roman,” she implores, her fingers clenching his hips.

His free hand ventures down to her pyjama bottoms. Teasingly trails one finger across the inside of the waistband before slipping his hand inside and cupping her over her panties.

Her head falls against his shoulder as his thumb idly rubs her. She can feel the wetness gathering with every tantalising stroke. She bites down on his collarbone when his other hand pinches her nipple.

“Please, Rome,” she hisses.

He pushes her bottoms and panties to the floor, urges her to lay on the sofa and settles himself over her. He wants this glorious image of her practically naked beneath him seared in his memory forever. He kisses her hard, sucks her tongue into his mouth. His lips travel down her sternum, tongue circling her naval before heading between her legs.

Time stands still for her during those brief seconds that she waits for his mouth to make contact with her centre. When he lightly blows against it, she realises she’s been yearning for this to happen again. She’d never admit to anyone, especially Roman, that she thinks about this every time she looks at his smart little mouth. Constantly has to shut the thought away as quickly as it appears so she can carry on with whatever business is at hand. She grips the sofa cushion beneath her when he finally presses his tongue against her clit.

Her moans have been haunting his dreams. He’s thought about them during every phone call, has been desperate to find a way to hear them again. She won’t join in on the calls, he tried but she made clear that it was out of the question.

He was surprisingly good at this the first time, especially since she’s found it’s almost always disappointing. Her hand shoots to his head when he does that thing with his tongue. She can practically feel his smug smile when she curses and grips his hair as hard as she can, forcing him to groan into her.

He fights the urge to slip his fingers inside her. He wants to do this with just his mouth, for his neck to stiffen and his jaw to ache with the effort. He wants to drag this out for as long as possible: her writhing beneath him as he flicks and rolls his tongue against her.

That warm, coiled tension is steadily building. Her belly warms and her muscles tense in anticipation. She can feel its closeness, that feeling of weightlessness like riding a rollercoaster. She looks down at him, their eyes locking. He ever so gently scrapes his teeth against her and it hits. Her toes curl and the inside of her head tingles, void of all thoughts. All she can do is lose herself in the sensations overpowering her body, relishing every prickle and shiver.

He’s marked her thighs and hips with his fingers, angry red imprints on her pale skin. He kisses the worst of them while she recovers. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before climbing over her again. He kisses her cheek and plants himself on top of her with his head on her shoulder. He enjoys the rising and falling of her chest beneath him, her breathing laboured.

When she regains some composure, she feels his erection pressing against her thigh. But he doesn’t make any further moves. He just lays against her, breathing on her neck, his fingers playing with her hair. She honestly believes he would leave right now if she asked. The thought drives her hands to his waist, pushing him up to lean over her as she undoes his belt and zipper.

“Have you fucked Tabitha?” she asks casually.  
“What?” he queries confusedly.  
“Have you fucked Tabitha?” she repeats, gazing meaningfully at him.  
“No,” he confirms. “What about you? Any 90 year old sugar daddies pounced on you lately?”  
“Funnily enough, I haven’t had the time,” she replies sarcastically.  
“Okay.”  
“Okay.”

He can only stare at her in anticipation as she shoves his pants down far enough to expose him. His eyes slam shut when she wraps her hand around him, guiding him inside.

“Gerri,” he sighs.

He keeps still, his forehead against hers as he absorbs the feeling of her, all warm and wet. And perfect. More magnificent is that he doesn’t feel that overwhelming pressure this would usually cause, like the entire Roy family fortune and legacy is weighing on his performance. He knows that he won’t be judged or considered unworthy if he falls apart. But the real difference is the way he loses himself with her, in her. Even the sound of her voice through the phone is all encompassing.

Gerri waits, her fingers slowly tracing random patterns across Roman’s back. She gasps when he finally stirs, his hips gently rocking into her. They build a slow steady rhythm as he kisses her mouth, her jaw.

“Is this what you wanted?” she groans. “Your dirty little dick inside of me?”  
“You,” he murmurs hotly against her neck. “Wanted you.”  
“Why?” she asks, surprising herself.  
“Lady MacBeth,” he whines, increasing the pace. “So fucking smart. Beautiful. Eyes… so blue.”  
“Shhhh,” she hisses, fearing further explanations. “Fuck.”

The angle changes as his mouth moves to her chest, captures a nipple.

“Soft,” he hums.  
“Please,” she whispers desperately, isn’t sure if it’s for him to stop talking or to keep doing everything else.

He bites down hard before soothing it with his tongue. She drags her nails up his neck into his hair, fiercely digging them into his scalp causing him to groan and his hips to buckle briefly. He can feel the pressure building in his dick but he needs to wait, needs to trip her over the edge again first. He can tell she’s close, can hear it in her little gasps and sighs. He moves his mouth back up to hers, swallowing them down. Their tongues and teeth clashing together inelegantly, neither of them able to maintain control at this point.

That tight, pleasant tension in her core is so close to snapping that it’s almost unbearable. Her hips cant up to his of their own volition as the pace increases, their movements becoming even more erratic.

“Gerri,” he pleads, his hot breath on her neck.

She feels herself go, flying and tumbling off the cliff. Her walls clamping around him, pushing him with her. He loses all sense as light flashes behind his closed eyes and he crashes on top of her. It’s never this intense, this overwhelming with anyone else, ever. He can only pant against her shoulder, inhaling the light sweaty scent of her soft skin.

She didn’t think she’d be starting her year like this, laying breathless and satisfied on her own couch, with Roman. Her heart is pounding, she can hardly focus on anything else. Regret is yet to rear its ugly head but she doubts it will. She’s taken a calculated risk tonight and it was worth it. She doubts there will be favourable circumstances any time soon for it to happen again. In any case, she knows there are limits to how reckless she will allow herself to be. She touches his hair lightly, enjoys their few minutes left together like this.

“You should go,” she urges eventually. “We have the lunch at Logan’s today.”  
“Yeah,” he concedes reluctantly. “Nothing like suffering through a Roy family meal to really get the ball rolling for the new year.”

He carefully climbs off her, stands to refasten his pants while she reaches to grab her pyjama bottoms from the floor. He’s only just got his shirt buttoned when he turns to see her fully redressed, pinning her hair back in it’s more casual updo. He feels this unbearable tightness in his chest as he watches her but it’s not entirely unpleasant. He always tries not to examine this strange obsession he has with her. He understands why she would cause it but not what “it” is. All he really knows is that she dazzles him, beyond that he doesn’t need or want a label for it. 

When he’s finally ready, she leads him to the door. Holds it open as he loiters on the threshold for a few final moments.

“I’ll save you a seat later,” he assures, gaze roaming over her reddened complexion.  
“Goodnight, Rome,” she replies warmly.

Before he can think twice, he kisses her on the cheek and zooms from her apartment without waiting for her reaction.

Gerri just blinks a few times in surprise before closing the door behind him. She rubs her hand over her thudding heart as she returns to her bedroom.

*

She’s dressed for the annual New Year lunch when she stops in the living room to grab her glasses. Her movements halt altogether when she notices the paperweight still sitting on the coffee table. She stares at it for a moment, wondering why Roman seemed so charmed by it. Though when it comes to Roman, there may not be a reason for it at all.

She smiles at the memory of last night as she heads out the door. She texts her cleaning service while she’s in the elevator, instructing them to give the sofa a thorough clean tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Out, damned spot! Out, I say!
> 
> It took fucking ages to finish this because I find sex scenes a nightmare to write. Any volunteers to write them for me from now on? You take care of the smut and I’ll do the rest?
> 
> Does it just feel long to me because I wrote it? I honestly don’t know how I feel about this one so please let me know how you feel instead.


End file.
